Fence Petty Point - The untold story.

Fence Petty Points

            Now having detailed the infinite pettiness of others, I feel the need to be honest about my own as well. This coordinated neighbor and Bureau attack on my personal business and property infuriated me to heights that I had never before reached. Never before or since have I been that angry for that long a period. I’ve been far angrier for far shorter periods, and I’ve been a lot less angry for much longer intervals. But for duration of excess, I definitely set a personal record. That is why I need to get other, more bitter, items out of my system.
            One reason why I felt so incensed, so extremely justified in “teaching the neighbors a lesson” was because I was here first. In essence, “squatter’s rights” apply. This house and I have been here since 1955. No one else can say that. There are a few neighbors, mostly ones who happen to live nearest me, who can cite dates in the later fifties, but most of the residents in this development have lived here for much shorter periods, and no one living here now has been here as long as I have. This was only the third house built here. We couldn’t even see the other two from here. And those previous two houses are long since no longer occupied by their original owners. Only mine is. When my father and his contractor-brother built this lovely house with their own talented hands, Daddy did not put us in suburbia; he put us “out in the boonies,” where he wanted us. Unfortunately, suburbia followed us. Almost immediately came the barrage of trash and trespassers. Both of my parents were as infuriated as I, but for two entirely different reasons, they were unwilling to do whatever it took to put a stop to it. I, however, was willing. And when I became the decision-maker around here, I did so. Now, for those Johnny-come-lately intruding neighbors to suddenly try to tell me that I could not defend myself against their own intrusions was beyond unacceptable. I didn’t want to need a fence. They themselves caused the problem, and then they tried to deprive me of my right to find a solution. Inexcusable. Why didn’t I present these facts as well in my article, “Fairfield Follies?” Because a close friend and confidante persuaded me that if I did so, I might offend otherwise potentially supportive people who just happened to have been newer neighbors. With great reluctance, I followed her advice. It was difficult, though. I still strongly feel that my point was valid. The principle of “first come, first served” is an ingrained one in our society, and with good reason. But I reiterate that I greatly appreciate the support of long-term neighbors and newcomers alike who championed my cause.
            It was reported in the newspaper that some of the harassing neighbors wished that we had had a neighborhood association here. Even ignoring the basic unconstitutionality of such organizations, if we had, my family or I would have been at the head of it, because we were here first, and because by now, as the most long-term resident, I am the neighborhood matriarch. And as such, I would allow only one rule here: that we will each do as we please on our own property.
            Now that you know the length to which my aggravation ran and why, perhaps you will understand my own versions of pettiness. When I reluctantly agreed to bargain with the county, while I gave my word to readjust the corner, I made no mention of the fact that that wasn’t all that I intended to do. However, I was very specific with the fence contractor. I had it written into our contract that the colorful PVC strips would be placed the entire length of the longer side before the corner was moved. (Naturally, for traffic-safety reasons, I did not consider installing the colors along the shorter road until after the corner was relocated.) As I said to the contractor, “On my dollar, we will create no smug faces and remarks of, ‘Oh we made her move the fence!’ As long as I am paying for it, the only smug face that we will create is mine! With any luck, the antagonists will be so horrified at the bright colors, that they won’t even notice that stupid corner being shifted!” And that was how it was done. Weirdly, cars from the Bureau of Permits circled like vultures, and their inhabitants even stopped and harassed the workers for obeying the contract that I had made with their bosses, probably fearful that I would renege on the part about moving the corner. I was grimly satisfied for the opportunity to make them nervous. The colors went in on the entirety of the longer street on an unseasonably warm, early-April morning, and I sat out front in a lawn-chair and immensely enjoyed the parade of horrified busybody neighbors roll past. There were a few highlights. One older woman clapped both hands to the sides of her face and mouthed the words, “Oh no!” Another elderly woman mouthed, “Oh my god!” And then there was the young girl in the red convertible, with impudently-flying ponytail, who cheerfully yelled, “Your fence is ugly!” I enthusiastically waved and shouted back, “Thank you!” I meant it! I was tremendously relieved! One private worry that I had harbored was that my punishment of the nasty nosy neighbors might backfire on me. The ten-month period of my fence fight was from July 2001 until May 2002. I envisioned the very real chance that, due to the wonderful patriotic fervor ignited by the tragic events of 9/11, the very neighbors that I sought to punish might end up loving the colors! Further, I tried not to thing about the real possibility that those same neighbors might pretend to love the colorful fence, just to frustrate me. And it would have! If they had been smart, they would have forced themselves into such a pretense, even if they’d had to grit their teeth. On the other hand, if they had been smart, they wouldn’t have spent decades picking fights with neighbors, in the first place.
            Another bizarre event happened after the fight was totally concluded, the fence was completely changed, my TV-spot was long since broadcast, and the newspaper articles were long since published. One neighbor from the enemy camp finally found the nerve to contact me, as they all should have done in the beginning, instead of launching their attack on me. She suggested that a mediator was willing to come up from the nearest city to meet with all of us, in someone’s home, to work out the problem. Somehow, I didn’t laugh in her face. But I did say, “Oh, so now, having tried and failed to bully me into doing your bidding on my property, now you want to try to sweet-talk me into doing so. Guess what? Wrong sequence!” As my other half has pointed out, I have nothing to mediate. I am satisfied with the outcome. In more ways than one! As magnificent proof of just how irrationally numbers like “property values” are determined, in our entire neighborhood, all property values have declined by around $2000 apiece simply because of my fence!

Fabulous! Because that’s about the same figure as what all of this fiasco cost me! Lawyers don’t work for free, fence corners don’t readjust themselves, and buying one page of a newspaper for one day isn’t gratis, either. All told, the busybodies cost me approximately $2000, and now, praise random chance, I’ve done the same to them!

To all of those who hate my fence, I say: guess what? I could have done a lot worse to you! Those PVC strips are available in thirteen different colors! I only chose three. Of course, I settled for so few, due to my message of American private property rights.

And that’s still my main message: why don’t you antagonists realize that such rights are why America is superior! Why are you trying to turn this great nation into one of those lousy countries that we’re fighting?